He Said, She Said
by aestheticisms
Summary: They met in a closed library; "What a pretty rebel." –Zexion/Belle


**a/n: THIS IS MY NEW OTP.**

**Don't break my heart. You know Zexion/Belle is amazing.**

**Enjoy~**

**-RV**

**

* * *

**

**he said, she said**

They met in a closed library; "What a pretty rebel." –Zexion/Belle

* * *

Belle was beautiful, by any standards. She had the long brunette waves that tumbled down her back, sparking brown eyes that flickered with intellect. She was the girl that boys simply fawned over and asked to pricy dinners. It wasn't just because of her pretty face, however. Boys set out to conquest this free spirit; Belle didn't believe that she needed a boy to succeed and ended up hiding herself away from the general public in abandoned houses or empty bookstores.

That was another thing about Belle, her love for books. Onlookers swear that she never left home without a book in her arms, or at least without a pen. You see, she was currently trying to pen her own novel, but with little success. It was the thorn in her rose garden. She had such a vivid imagination, too. Her dreams consisted of princes cursed into beasts that would fall in love with pretty princesses from faraway lands. Yet, even with these highly innovative plans for her future, she couldn't get the words to flow out from her ink pen; it was like magic from a broken wand. It was distorted.

She had the world on a string, and honestly didn't care about it.

Along with every other boy in the village, she caught the attention of a long, violet haired boy with cyan eyes. He usually saw her in those abandoned houses and empty bookstores, because he too, was an outcast from societal norms. She was alienated because of her beauty, and he for his love for the ink on parchment.

Zexion was a writer, not a fighter. He usually spent his days locked up into a room, with only stained coffee cups for company and cigarette butts on ash trays. His tired gaze would look out his window, only to see that snow had fallen. Winter came and this was the season that Zexion loved the most. The quiet nights, the cold chill in the air that simply beckoned him to stay inside and allow himself to write, those were the reasons why.

But one day, on that fateful December day, he looked up to see the beautiful brunette waltzing by herself outside in the cold. She twirled and dipped, her book never falling from her hands. She moved like a wood nymph, back and forth, swaying to a rhythm unknown.

That girl had intrigued Zexion. She piqued his interest, and she was the reason he was running out the door, with his ratty old coat hanging limply from his bony limbs.

She quickly tip-toed her way through the school building, how they got in the locked building on a Saturday was a mystery, maneuvering herself through the familiar, yet foreign hallways. Zexion paused every few seconds, whenever Belle would look behind her for any followers. Zexion wasn't planning on getting caught by this strange girl who snuck into libraries on non-school days.

"There," she murmured, as she managed to slip through the library's glass doors. Her pretty plain blue dress swished as she walked, and continued to do so as the brunette beauty sat down on an empty chair.

Zexion stood at the library doors, hesitating. His cyan eyes flickered back and forth, back and forth, from the girl to the red flashing exit sign. His stained black jeans were unprofessional compared the girl's long blue dress. His long-sleeved oxford shirt was wrinkled under his black coat, and he couldn't even look at her without feeling unworthy of her gaze.

So he threw out his instincts and walked right in, slinking to the wings, hoping to get to the nonfiction section without the pretty brainy brunette noticing him. He rolled his shoulders back and carefully brushed off imaginary lint particles from his skinny jeans and then sauntered out from the section with the lexicons and towards the tables.

Belle looked up from her book, as a faint smile danced on her lips.

"What a pretty rebel," Zexion cooed, his voice was hoarse from one too many cigarettes and coffee combinations. Belle's smile widened to the slightest of smirks, as she tilted her head invitingly towards the seat next to her. Zexion took a seat next to the girl and propped his elbows on the oak furnish.

"Why thank you, kind stranger." She said, in a light, yet sarcastic voice. Zexion could immediately tell he liked this girl.

"No need to thank me, just pointing out the facts. Not just anyone would risk their education to read a book on a Saturday in an empty library." Zexion drawled, while smiling wryly. Belle batted her mascara-coated eyelashes, her eyes popping out even more behind her brown lashes.

"So tell me, what does a boy like you do here anyways?"

"Oh, you know. Write."

"Lovely."

"You?"

"Read, as you know."

Zexion tilted his head to the side, as Belle arched an eyebrow at his lack of response. He leaned in and brushed his chapped lips against her soft, sugary sweet ones. The kiss was quiet, and Belle scooted closer to Zexion, wrapped her slender arms around his neck, as he leaned in even more, intensifying the kiss.

When they broke apart, Zexion smiled.

"You _are _a pretty rebel."

Belle simply rolled her eyes. "The one and only."

Ten days later, Belle left the village and moved into the city. She published her finally finished novel, the story about the princess who met a cursed prince. While she was in the city, she met another boy who bore no resemblance to the writer she left in her past. He was composed, polite, and gentlemanly; everything that the scruffy writer was not.

Zexion sat alone on Saturdays in that school library, his feet on the table, where he finished writing a book about a girl who liked to read, and how she killed a poor man's heart. He puffed out cigarette smoke, his cyan eyes glazed over, still thinking about the pretty rebel that left him behind.


End file.
